Me and the goat

We pretty much live at the goat end of town.  We have goats, our next door neighbour has a goat and the neighbours across the road have goats.  In terms of real estate jargon, I think ‘the goat end of town’ might be preferable to ‘near the train tracks and the cemetery’ (not that I’ve got anything against either of those necessary pieces of civil infrastructure, it just wouldn’t make it to the description).

Anyway, there’s a goat across the road from me that I have quite a bit in common with.

She’s a bit of a trendsetter.  In a field of white goats and a sheep, she’s black and tan complete with horns.  She’s not afraid to buck the trends and have her own style.

She’s got twins.

Her twins look very different. One has black spots and one has brown. She probably gets the ‘oh are they twins? The look so different’ spiel regularly too.  I’m not an expert on goat breeding, but I reckon her twins might be fraternal like mine.  This means two eggs, two sperm, two entirely different babies.  They don’t ‘have’ to look the same.  I wonder if people have said to her ‘they don’t look like they even came out of the same mother’ or, possibly the worst one I’ve heard ‘have they got the same father?’ – I think this was supposed to be a joke.  No one laughed.

She’s doing some ‘extended breastfeeding’ with her twins.  I finally weaned my babes about two months ago and I could completely empathise with this mother as I watched her try to limit their feeding time today and I could just tell, from one mum to another, that she’s had enough of the feeding caper.  I wish her luck.

I’ll keep an eye on her and maybe chuck her a carrot next time we walk past and hope she doesn’t have to share it with her offspring.


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